


I Remembered You Were Mine

by hobbitdragon



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Fingering, Assets & Handlers, Bittersweet Ending, Drugs, First Time, Good Intentions, HYDRA Trash Party adjacent, M/M, Manipulation, Memory Loss, Oral Sex, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Rape, Sad Ending, Sexual Coercion, The chair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2019-07-10 11:29:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15948443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobbitdragon/pseuds/hobbitdragon
Summary: Steve awakes in a strange place with a familiar face standing over him. He has no idea where he is or how he got there, but at least Bucky is with him.





	I Remembered You Were Mine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rirren](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rirren/gifts).



> Thanks to outruntheavalanche for the beta reading! Thanks also to spikymarshmallows for helping me talk this through when I was trying to conceptualize what I wanted from writing this fic. 
> 
> CONTENT WARNING: this story contains the graphic depiction of coercive rape. The coercion occurs via the omission of crucial information, ignoring of boundaries, and the administration of drugs. 
> 
> There is also no easy, happy ending on this fic. Read with caution.

The touch of something cool on his face wakes him. It grips his chin, turning his head toward his right shoulder, and the muscles of his neck scream in protest. _Whiplash,_ Steve thinks. _I have whiplash._

An attempt to open his eyes is immediately aborted, the harsh lights spiking through him all the way into the back of his skull. He groans. He tries to lift his arm to cover his eyes, because his lids aren’t thick enough to block out the light, but his bicep and wrist encounter something immovable and cold.

It’s then he feels the movement of air over his chest and thighs and realizes that he’s naked. He’s naked and can’t move either of his arms--or his legs, he soon discovers. Opening his eyes is like being stabbed again, the sockets aching, but he needs to know where he is.

“Stay calm,” says a blurry figure with brown hair and light skin. “You’re doing just fine.”

The voice is familiar. Straining, Steve manages to force his eyes to focus enough to take in a pale face and blue eyes and--

“Bucky?” Steve whispers.

He hasn’t seen Bucky in a long time. He can’t remember what happened, only that he’s missed Bucky terribly. Didn’t Bucky have short hair? He has shoulder-length hair now, so it must have been a very long time indeed. Water prickles as it rises to his eyes and relief wells over him, and Steve turns away again, overwhelmed.

“Bucky,” he begs, not sure what he’s asking for.

“Understood,” Bucky says, though Steve doesn’t understand. He hears Bucky moving around near him, then a pinch of pain in Steve’s shoulder. A needle maybe? “It’ll kick in soon. I’m sorry the last batch wore off quicker than I anticipated.”

 _Last batch of what,_ Steve wants to ask, but the throbbing of the nerves along his temples and jaw crowd out everything else. He feels sick and small, but Bucky is here so it’s fine. It’s fine. Bucky knows how to take care of him. Steve focuses on his breathing, long deep breaths to will the nausea away--and a few breaths later the pain eases, the world softening and Steve with it.

“There you go,” Bucky says, and something cool and hard touches Steve’s face, stroking down his cheek. It catches on his stubble. “The directions said it would last longer, but I guess your body is different than mine. Sorry I made you wait for relief. It’ll be better next time.”

“Bucky,” Steve repeats. “I missed you. I'm so glad you’re here.”

“I’m glad you’re here too. We’ll do great things together. Our work will be a gift to the world.”

That sounds good, Steve thinks. He’s always wanted to change the world. So much needs to be changed. He was in the middle of doing something important, he thinks, but--

“I just have to get you ready,” Bucky finishes, and Steve nods, just a little, because while he’s not in pain anymore, his neck still feels very strange. “The next step is one of the easy ones. You don’t need to do anything but lie there.”

“Okay,” Steve agrees. He doesn’t want to move anyway. Instead he listens as Bucky moves around the space, feels the eddies of the air over his bare skin, and then at last Bucky settles in between Steve’s legs--which are strapped open, Steve finally realizes. “Did I get sick again--” he starts to ask, when something warm and wet closes over his cock.

It jolts Steve into alertness, eyes springing open. His neck sends up a warning throb as he turns his head down. But he has to see it because his brain can’t make sense of it otherwise: Bucky’s mouth, tongue silky and mobile, wrapped around Steve all the way down to where his pubic hair--

\--has been neatly shaved away, leaving him bare as he hasn’t been since he was a child. That’s every bit as strange as the sight of Bucky’s mouth rounded open between Steve’s legs.

“What on earth--” Steve starts to ask, but Bucky swallows. Steve has never before realized that one could feel someone swallow by the movement of their lips and tongue, but he can. It presses him up into the rough texture at the roof of Bucky’s mouth, and the whole of it is so hot, so wet. “You have to stop, someone might--” Steve begins to say, when he takes in the rest of the room.

Small metal boxes line the walls, and he can’t understand what sort of space this could possibly be. To his right is a gurney spread with medical supplies, and beyond that a kind of chair with a metal halo over the head-rest. What is that for? Cords run from the base of it into the wall, but Steve can’t even wonder about it because of Bucky’s mouth. His mouth, his _mouth._

There’s no one else here, and the massive portal out of the room doesn’t look as though anyone could sneak through it. But even so, Bucky cannot do this. They aren’t like this! Steve has worked hard to make sure they’re not like this and that nobody thinks this about Bucky.

But Bucky just hums around his mouthful. Steve tries to close his legs, tries to ignore the feeling of it, but he can’t do either. The heat and softness of it, the careful wrap of Bucky’s lips around his teeth, the movement of his tongue--Steve hardens into it in no time, until Bucky’s mouth slides rather than squeezes. Pleasure blooms between Steve’s legs, expansive and spreading by the moment.

Letting go of his mouthful with a sigh, Bucky wraps his hand around it instead, stroking with a firm touch. His spit keeps it slick, and the loose skin of Steve’s foreskin does the rest. He twitches into that strong grip, gasping with mortification.

“Bucky--” Steve pleads again. “Please, you have to stop, we can’t do this, you can’t--”

“Be quiet,” Bucky instructs, wiping at his mouth with his left--his left _hand_ is-- “There’s no one here to tell me I can’t do this. We’re safe, I made sure of it.”

Steve isn’t even listening because the hand is silver metal, lights catching on it. Steve doesn’t understand. Is it a glove? Is Bucky wearing armor? It’s beautiful and somehow worrying. Scrunching up his face and internally shaking himself, Steve squirms against the heavy bindings again. He still can’t budge them.

Then Bucky switches hands. The cool metal touching Steve where he’s hot and sensitive is too much. He whimpers, thighs flinching and shaking even though the new touch feels just as good. The grip is careful and the plates don’t pinch. Steve tries to remember why they mustn’t do this, but the knowledge slips further away the more he tries to chase it. He just knows they can’t. But maybe they can? Bucky said he’d made sure they were safe, and he always....he always took such care....

Something clicks to Steve’s side, and then warm wet fingers slide down behind Steve’s balls to his anus. It flinches away from the touch but the fingers follow it as it withdraws, massaging in slow circles.

“Relax. This won’t hurt,” Bucky informs him. “I know what I’m doing. I’ve improved the standard procedure.”

What does that mean? What standard procedure?

“But we can’t,” Steve repeats, because he’s sure of this even if he can’t say why. It’s hard to think, especially with Bucky rubbing circles around and around like that. It doesn’t feel half bad, and the longer it goes on and the firmer Bucky’s digits become, the nicer it feels. It starts to seem like Bucky’s circling around and around the surface of Steve’s brain because he can’t think of anything other than that hypnotic pressure.

“We can, don’t worry. Assets are often repurposed for recreational use like this,” Bucky says, tone gentle. “You already got through the hard part earlier, before you woke up. This bit’s for me, as the senior asset, but then you and I can run our first joint mission together. I have it all planned out.”

The tip of one finger dips just inside Steve, who shudders and jerks in the restraints again. He’s not stupid, he’s heard of sodomy. But he’d never understood why anyone would allow it. Surely it must hurt, cause damage or at least discomfort? Now he waits with bated breath, certain where this is going even as he dreads it.

When at last that fingertip pushes a little harder, it retreats before Steve can even begin to tense up properly. It’s back again right away though, again and again, just a little deeper every time until Steve can feel Bucky’s knuckles against his ass. Steve can't believe this is happening, or how it feels--it’s like having his cock stroked, that level of pleasure and response, but inside him where he’s never felt anything but biological necessity before. The simple fact of it feeling good staggers him, leaving him reeling and dizzy. Or maybe that’s just the way his head is still spinning.

When a second finger teases at the entrance like a guest uncertain of their welcome, Steve bites his lip and whimpers. The knowledge that there’s something wrong with this still itches at the back of his mind, but if it doesn’t hurt, and it’s Bucky, and if no one will find out....

When at last the tease of that second finger resolves into a cautious inward motion, Steve lets out the breath he’s been holding. No pain here either, especially once Bucky pours more of whatever the slippery stuff is all over his hand. The glide eases further and Steve’s mind with it.

A third finger joins in some time after, and then a fourth, and the stretch of it feels _delicious._ This part of him isn’t made for this, Steve knows that, but suddenly it _feels_ like it is, like it was designed for this purpose alone. The pull and spread of his tissues around Bucky’s hand and the upward curl of those careful digits sends waves of sensation up through Steve that collect in his brain till he feels like he’s drowning. All he can do is tilt his head back and gasp as though through rising water.

“How does it feel?” Bucky asks, his voice quiet and serious.

“Amazing,” Steve confesses, unable to be anything but honest as he blinks up at Bucky. Steve's cock slithers and jumps on his belly like a living thing, leaving a wet trail behind it. “Oh God, Buck, it feels amazing.”

And Bucky smiles. The expression is so broad that it wrinkles up the corners of his eyes. Something in that makes Steve’s chest clutch up tight again to match a ripple of response that almost squeezes Bucky’s fingers out of him. In that moment, Steve thinks maybe Bucky’s right, maybe they _should_ do this. He loves Bucky so much, he’s _missed_ him so much, and it feels--it feels--

Bucky removes his hand, and Steve immediately protests the lack with a whine of complaint. He lifts his head to see what’s happening, noticing as he does so that his neck and skull feel better now, and watches Bucky unbutton his trousers. The knowledge of what’s about to happen between them suffuses Steve like blood in water. He’s had sex before, he’s sure--he remembers lipstick kisses and soft thighs around his head, the warm salty taste in his mouth, a small hand with painted nails tugging at his hair and then between his legs. But he’s never done this.

Yet, if not with Bucky, then who? Bucky has his johnson out of his clothes now and is slicking it. It’s big and hard and clearly ready for this even if Steve isn’t quite as certain. It’s flattering, in a way, to know that Bucky wasn’t unaffected. That he’d gotten something out of all his work.

Then he moves forward, slotting the tip neatly into where Steve is wet and open for the purpose. The intent of the restraints make sense now, Steve’s legs held up and away at an angle, his arms kept from wrecking this in his ignorance or eagerness. Looking intently at Steve’s face, Bucky leans forward just a little, and Steve’s body parts for him with undeniable ease.

The sensation of himself closing up around Bucky makes Steve think of a theatre starlet ducking her head through the red curtains to peep at the audience, and Steve almost laughs at the image. But the curl of his mouth around the beginnings of a smile gets lost in a groan as the slide continues in, in, in. After what seems like an age, Bucky runs aground inside Steve, leaning over him and bracing his palms on the surface Steve’s lying on. All Steve can do is stare up at him and try to breathe around the magnitude of what they’re doing, the absurd closeness of it and the easy glowing pleasure it sparks.

“Oh God,” Steve swears, “oh God.”

“Does it hurt?” Bucky asks, his voice strained. After experiencing the wet heat of Bucky’s mouth, Steve can only imagine what this feels like for Bucky. Steve would like to find out for himself someday.

“No,” Steve husks out, hands flexing in their restraints and toes curling. His harsh breathing causes tiny, subtle shifts between them, and even that makes Steve feel closer to a precipice. “No it’s--it’s good. Oh God, I didn’t realize it would be this easy.”

Another beautiful warm smile, Bucky’s handsome face opening up into smug satisfaction. “Told you I improved the standard procedures,” he brags, waggling his eyebrows, and then starts to thrust.

Steve forgets absolutely everything else, doubts crushed into silence at last. He can feel Bucky’s breath on his face, the fabric of his black shirt soft on Steve’s straining prick, and every turn back and forth inside him is unbearably good. The outward drag is good, the inward drub is good, and the pressure of Bucky’s belly on Steve's cock makes it a complete cycle that lights Steve up like electricity through a filament. Steve can barely keep his eyes open to see how transported Bucky is as well, too busy with the plateau of sensation that’s opening up inside him.

It's like flying, Steve thinks. He can't remember when he flew, but he knows he has. He holds on as long as he can, remembering the wind rushing over him and through his hair with someone’s arms around him.

The metal holding him groans as he comes, warping around his arms as he pulls and pulls. He can’t stay still, he wants to hold Bucky, and he’s overwhelmed with the knowledge that Bucky can feel him come. Bucky himself lets out a sharp noise in response, his forehead collapsing to Steve’s chest. His hips work faster, harder, rough now in the aftermath, but Steve can’t find it in himself to mind. Bucky was so patient before.

When Bucky at last shudders to his own end, they half-lie together as their sweat cools, panting against each other’s necks. And when Bucky rises, he looks delighted, grinning from ear to ear. Steve can’t help smiling back as Bucky grabs wet-wipes from the nearby gurney, cleans himself, and then tucks himself back into his clothes.

“Are you ready to comply if I unlock the restraints?” he asks. Steve nods. There’s no pain anymore, and his head is clearing from both his earlier disorientation and the heavy fuzz of the afterglow. Bucky watches him critically as he stands, knees only a little weak.

“Status report,” Bucky demands. It’s a strange way to ask how Steve’s doing, but they’ve both been in the military. It makes everyone weird.

“Fine,” Steve says. He grabs some of the wipes. “I don’t remember how we got here, though. Are we in Germany? Austria?” Now he’s thinking more about it, the lack of memory is pretty concerning. But it’s going to be fine in the end because Bucky’s here. It's probably just a concussion, and while _that_ was a strange way of keeping someone awake as a concussion heals, Steve can’t say he’s complaining. He feels relaxed and rejuvenated, and he’s already thinking of how soon they can do it again.

“District of Colombia,” Bucky replies, and at this Steve’s head whips around to stare at him.

“Like in the States?” Steve demands, and Bucky nods.

“There’s a lot to catch you up on as part of your mission brief.”

“Do I have brain damage?” Steve asks, afraid of the answer. He can’t remember leaving the States but he knows he _did,_ and he can’t remember coming back, either. He can’t remember anything of the day before waking up here--or any of the last week. Everything feels....foggy. Difficult to grasp. Bucky stares back at him for several seconds too long.

“You were--erratic," Bucky explains. "I brought you here for treatment. It’s nothing to worry about, everything we have here will fix the problem, but I may have to bring you back here at some point.”

Steve is immediately thinking of all the things that could cause him to be ‘erratic’ and forgetful, but concussion seems the most likely suspect. Bucky bends over to bring out a set of folded clothes from the bottom level of the gurney, and Steve takes them with a sigh. Well, whatever type of concussion he’s got, he’ll deal with it. At least Bucky is here.

**

That night they grin and elbow each other and laugh and joke as they drive into the suburbs to stay the night in a safehouse where they talk plans. The safehouse has everything they need: guns, ammunition, money, passports. They sleep soundly together, taking turns on watch, and it feels good just to sit and look at Bucky.

Steve’s memory loss seems profound, and the longer he’s awake the more Bucky’s metal arm disturbs him, but Steve just tries not to think too hard about it--or the fact that a lot of their targets seem to be US politicians. It’s not as if it’s a surprise that the government is full of corruption, though. At least they’re doing something about it. And on the bright side, they’re in the States, they’re together, they’re fed, they have a mission. They’re gonna make the world better.

Before they leave the safehouse that morning, Bucky bends Steve over the kitchen counter and fucks him again until Steve comes shouting, lit up from toes to scalp like a Christmas tree.

They leave the city, driving north to NYC, where they do recon for several days, figuring out lines of sight, movement patterns, ways to avoid collateral. It’s boring work, but having sex every few hours livens it right up.

Every time they do, something squirms in the back of Steve’s mind, but on day two his mind kicks up the word ‘homophobia’. Steve looks it up and relaxes. He can deal with a little internal discomfort as he adjusts to this new thing with Bucky. Or maybe it’s not new? He can’t remember and feels awkward asking.

The memory loss makes it difficult to determine, but Steve can’t ever remember being happier. It’s hard to _imagine_ being happier.

On day four, a team of thirty breaks into the new safe-house and takes them captive. It’s not a fair fight; the enemy team uses tranquilizers that drop both Steve and Bucky like rocks.

Two of the opposing team--a handsome Black man with a goatee and a strange backpack and what seems to be the team leader, a short red-headed white woman--seem familiar. The others cuff Steve in what have to be specially-made heavy cuffs while he can’t fight back, still weak from the tranqs, and Bucky--they deactivate his arm and then cuff it anyway. Steve’s so angry he could spit nails.

They load Steve and Bucky into different transport vehicles, but they put Steve into the same truck as the two who look....familiar. Steve stares at them during the ride back to base, trying to place their faces. They look back at him, the woman’s expression impassive. The man seems to be struggling not to cry.

It’s when they get back to base that everything goes to hell.

**

**Six weeks later**

 

Steve seats himself outside the glass wall with a sigh. He can already tell this is gonna be a bad day. Inside the wall, Bucky’s non-responsive, staring into nothing, barely breathing. Normally he at least looks at Steve. On his good days, Bucky actually talks, but the good days are few and far between.

Well. It is what it is, and Steve swallows hard and steels himself. He reaches into his bag and brings out the battered copy of The Two Towers that he bought from a local bookstore, thumbing it open to his bookmark and starting to read aloud. They’d started with The Hobbit, which the specialists say Steve read back when he was young. He doesn’t remember it, but they say that engaging with familiar things might help along the memory recovery process for both of them.

When Steve has read an entire chapter, Bucky’s eyes flicker a little. They move around the room as Steve watches, but then they settle again, half-lidded and absent.

The psychologists tell Steve it’s because some part of Bucky doesn’t want to come back to the world. That he experiences the world as unsafe. Steve can’t say he blames him.

Bookmarking his place, Steve talks about his day. Sam has finally made up his mind to move into the Avengers tower, which Tony had a field day about. That man seems very, very lonely. Tony is continuing his research into a device for regrowing damaged neurons and uncoupling traumatic associations, but he says it’s slow work and they can’t get their hopes up because the brain is a big damn mystery.

Steve doesn’t say: _I bought myself a dildo and think of you when I use it every night. I don’t want to get off any other way._

He doesn’t say: _I have a crush on Sam, and maybe Natasha too, and I think I might have even before you kidnapped me. But the idea of touching them makes me feel dirty and sick._

Steve doesn’t say: _They tell me you took me from my new apartment, injected me with a compound Hydra used on you that’s designed to knock out supersoldiers. They made more to bring us down in the safehouse._

Steve doesn’t say: _We almost assassinated major politicians because you suspected them of Hydra corruption. I sometimes wish we had succeeded._

Steve doesn’t say: _You tried to make me into you, but happier. You would have succeeded, but it couldn’t last. You were right, you improved on the standard procedures, because you actually cared about me. But it was still rape and brainwashing and I would have realized that sooner or later._

Steve doesn’t say: _Before they told you that you raped me and damaged my brain, you were happy. You wanted the best for me and thought you’d given it._

When Steve has communicated all the news he has, what Steve says instead is, “Look, Buck, I know everything is awful right now. Given that most days you just stare at the wall, it doesn’t seem like a stretch to say you’re not in a great place emotionally. I don’t....I don’t know how to feel very hopeful either. But you’ve gotta hang on, okay. We’re both here, together, in the twenty-first century, and I apparently have a lot of very powerful friends.” Steve swallows, blinking hard and taking a deep breath. “Despite everything, we made it together, and I gotta believe that means something. I gotta believe there’s a big future waiting for us both if we just....stick to the work. Talk to the therapists they’ve given us and do the exercises.”

No response, as usual, but it’s a bad day. Has been a string of bad days. There are good days too, Steve knows that, and maybe if he says the right thing, there will be more good days.

“I’m gonna come visit you here every day I can. I’m not giving up on you. I’m with you till the end of the line.”

Bucky shifts and Steve goes silent, watching the motion of Bucky’s feet as he stretches his legs, and then his neck and arm. The metal one’s gone until Stark can build a new one that doesn’t include self-destruct bombs and auto-released drugs.

“You said that before,” Bucky croaks, voice ragged with disuse. “On the helicarrier.”

Steve shrugs. It just felt like the right thing to say, and he certainly meant it. “Nice to hear from you again,” he remarks.

“You were--” Bucky begins, and his throat clicks as he swallows. His lashes flutter as he inhales. “We were gonna change the world together.”

Wincing, Steve sets the book aside, crossing his legs.

“Yeah, Buck. I know.”

“No, you were--I _thought_ you were my asset,” Bucky amends. “I went to a museum. Read about us. I don’t remember much from before, but I read those things about us, and I remembered....I fed you, clothed you, dressed your wounds, curbed your problem behaviors. Who else does that, except....”

He trails off, and reality stretches thin between them, the ordinariness of Steve’s life broken into shards by the presence of this man. Movement comes slow, like the dreams Steve keeps having where no matter how hard he runs, he can’t go anywhere.

Steve finishes the sentence after a long pause. “A handler?” he guesses.

Bucky turns his face away with a sigh, long hair falling over his empty shoulder. His hair looks soft, at least, like he’s washed it recently. A good sign.

“I remembered you were mine,” he murmurs. “I didn’t want you to have to remember what I did to you before I remembered. And now you don’t, do you?”

A feeling rises upward inside Steve, an awful, prickly, beautiful thing he doesn’t know what to do with. Steve stares at the other man, feeling his pulse thumping away under his breastbone as sweat collects in the lines of his hands. Any attempt to read his palms, Steve thinks, would have to take into account the fact that his love line has seen more salt from exertion and blood than from the caring touch of another human being.

He opens up the book again and starts to read. Bucky subsides into silence once more. 

Today is a bad day. But maybe tomorrow will be better.


End file.
